I Hate to Say This
by Kerosene Stevens
Summary: After a hurtful argument with the other Avengers on top of the flu, Tony's not feeling too charitable when the call to Assemble comes. Of course, the villain of the day has to prove that yes, in fact, his day can get worse: when he gets home, there are five little kids running around, looking suspiciously like his teammates.
1. Chapter 1

_So this is for a prompt for Avengerkink. I swear I'm working on my other fics. I swear. Also, if you know me, you know each character has a reason for their actions, so please hold on and have faith in me. Remember, reviews are next to the only thing keeping this fic going, same as all my other ones, because I'm only partially writing this for me. Most of my purpose behind writing is for my readers. So if I don't hear for my readers, I lose hope. Anyways, enjoy. uvu_

_**8** _

"Are you drunk?" Barton asks in disbelief. Tony squints up at him from where his head rests on the mercifully cool counter.

"Yeah, totally," he says flatly. His voice sounds like a running garbage disposal. "Drunk as a skunk, in an alcohol-free tower. Aren't you proud."

"I'm disgusted, actually," Barton retorts, taking the stool across from Tony at the counter. Romanov comes up behind him and offers one of the three pistols in her hands - only two of them are Stark made, especially for them. Barton takes the largest of the two, which Tony's briefly grateful for, but when he gets a look at the third he frowns.

"What happened to the third one?" he questions, sitting upright to stare at the smallest, a round pistol of an ancient-looking European make. It's terribly designed; Tony's half convinced it's rigged to explode just by looking at it. "God, it's hideous. Why would you do that to yourself? Gimme."

Romanov scowls at him. "Don't be such a baby. I've been using this gun since before I joined SHIELD."

"It shows," Tony remarks, glowering at it as it disappears into one of her many invisible pockets. He could do so much better with that design. In fact, maybe he will.

She rolls her eyes. "You look like shit. What happened to no alcohol in the tower?"

"Why, yes, thank you, I do feel marginally better after my week-long bout with the flu," Tony snits, "I'm glad you asked."

"Bullshit," Barton snorts. "I think we'dve noticed if you had the flu. The bottom floor would've been able to hear your complaints."

Tony gapes. "Are you accusing me of lying about having the flu? Do you know how -" _dangerous the flu is for me_? Tony bites his tongue and glares at the marble counter. He'd like to see one of them with a nasty case of the flu and only 86% of their lungs to work with. No, scratch that: he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"How immature you can get?" Romanov finishes, eyebrow raised. "Yes, yes we do." She drops next to Barton, folding her arms on the counter.

"I hate to pull this card," Barton drawls, and Tony knows what's going to come out of his mouth, he _knows_ and for that brief moment he's so breathtakingly angry - "But what would Pepper think? You were doing so well."

That hurts.

Romanov elbows Barton, hard, and for a minute Tony thinks she's on his side, but then she opens her mouth. "Don't lump Potts in with his actions, she's washed her hands of him already."

Tony takes as deep a breath as he can manage, half congested as he is, and wills himself to calm down. "Bad day, ladies?" is what comes out of his mouth. "Midol not cutting it for you this fine morning?"

Barton narrows his eyes. "You expect us to be all buddy-buddy when the last time we saw you was two weeks ago? You embarrassed all of us with your shit at that party, Stark, and then you disappeared and left us to handle it. You expect me to be friendly? Fury just shut up about it two days ago."

"Sorry about that," Tony concedes. He really hadn't needed to get so spectacularly drunk, he'll admit it.

"Oh yeah," Barton says venomously, "you sound _real_ sincere."

"And how do I look?" Tony seethes, anger leeching back in slowly. "Do I look like a verbal punching bag? Quit being such an asshole! I don't deserve this shit!"

"We didn't deserve the situation you left us with," Romanov points out, a thousand times more calm than Barton but still with that cruelly disdainful air she only pulls with people lower than her, in any sense of the word.

"I know that," he snaps, "but right now I -" his voice cracks painfully and his argument devolves into a miserable coughing fit. It seems to go on forever, his eyes squeezed shut, one hand clutched to his mouth while the other reaches blindly for the water he brought with him to the counter.

There's a warm hand on his back when he finally sucks in real air again, another prodding the cool glass into his open hand. Eyes cracking open, Tony makes sure the glass is actually moving towards his face instead of his left arm or something stupid borne of a sudden lack of coordination and oxygen. He gulps down half the cup at once, heaving as deep a breath as he can when he's done. "So that sucked," he says conversationally.

As it turns out, the hand between his shoulder blades is attached to one Bruce Banner. "Are you alright?" he asks, adjusting his glasses. "I thought you'd gotten over your flu."

"Apparently not." Tony shrugs. "Does this mean I get the good drugs?" His lungs are still burning, muscles around the arc reactor still jumping and shivering with each previous cough. It's going to hurt for another hour. Bruce sighs, dropping his hand and shuffling over to the nearest stool.

"It doesn't," he says. "Sorry. Your body should recover on its own at this point."

"Boo," Tony says good-naturedly. Then he notices the two agents, who have apparently been staring blankly the whole time. Rude. "I hate to say this," Tony says in a perfect imitation of Barton's voice, "but I told you so."

Their matching scowls deepen.

"Tony," Bruce says conversationally, stealing a sip from the half-empty glass, "don't antagonize SHIELD's top agents. They could kill you with their pinkies."

"Quit drinking my water," Tony complains. Bruce only smirks. That jerk. He could bathe in flu germs and not get sick. He says it's because of the Hulk, but Tony suspects it's because he's already bathed in every disease imaginable in every third-world country imaginable. Except the STDs. Bruce is a prude who refuses to sleep with him, so it stands to reason that he hasn't slept with anyone else, either.

Something spasms in his chest and his breath catches. "Are you sure the flu doesn't warrant painkillers?"

"Nothing above motrin," Bruce says, and Tony knows they've been doing this all week but he hurts, a hundred times more than a normal person with the flu and it stings that Bruce is acting so annoyed. So exasperated. "You're an Avenger, Tony. Toughen up. You can deal with a few aches and pains."

"Ugh," Tony moans, pillowing his head with his arms.

"What is wrong with the Man of Iron?" And there's Thor, bursting into the room with his size and weight and, and _noise_. Great.

"Hey, big guy," Tony says, voice muffled by his arms. A heavy hand drops onto his shoulder, earning a wheeze as his lungs compensate.

"Stark's whining about being sick," Barton explains, nonchalant. Tony feels another spike of irritation.

"Is this true, Man of Iron?" Thor asks, sounding concerned. Tony garbles an answer into the countertop. The hand on his shoulder squeezes. "You must not act as though you are a child. You are an Avenger, and rather old in Midgardian years."

"Hey," and yep, that's a whine. "I'm thirty-eight. That's not old."

"That's middle-aged, Tony," Bruce says patiently. "And you're thirty-nine."

"Lying about your age?" Romanov snorts. "Grow up."

"What's Stark complaining about now?" Captain America marches into the room, adjusting the straps on his gloves. "Whatever it is, we don't have time for it."

"I'm not complaining," Tony objects. Rogers turns an unimpressed eye on him.

"Sure you're not," he replies. "Stow your problems or stay behind, Stark. We need to get moving. Fury sent an alert not two minutes ago -" He pauses. "Stark, why aren't you in your armor?"

"I didn't know there was a call to assemble," he says honestly.

"What did you think when we all assembled in uniform, then?" Thor inquires, moving his beefy hand to his hammer. "Were we not all alerted?"

"My commlink is upstairs," Tony says with a sigh. He heaves himself out of his seat. "I'll go get it."

"How did you even get on this team?" someone mutters. Tony rolls his shoulders through a flinch.

"Don't look at me," Romanov mumbles.

"Maybe you should stay behind," Rogers says with a hint of concern. "You look sick."

"I've been sick," Tony grouches. "But I'll be there. Just - commlink."

"Right," Rogers says, unconvinced. "Meet us at Central Park, then, if you can. Doctor Banner, is he okay to fly?"

"He should be fine," Bruce assures him.

"Alright. Avengers, get to the Quinjet." He turns around and leaves the way he came, followed by Thor, Bruce, and Romanov. Clint lingers long enough to say, "maybe you should stay behind."

Fed up with it all, Tony bristles. "You couldn't last a day without me."

Clint shakes his head, snatching up the Stark pistol and turning away. "That's the thing, Stark. I really think we could."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for all the comments! Your emotional agony made my day so much better - aah, that probably sounds wrong. XD But I think you know what I mean! Anyways, the feedback I received definitely helped me shape the future of this fic, and will continue to do so if you keep reviewing. So, pretty please? _

**8**

It's almost surprising, how easy it is to set aside their differences and focus on the battle. Or at least, for Tony it is. He's really not as childish as the others apparently assume he is: he knows the destruction of New York is more important than his offense over Clint calling him names. Jesus Christ.

Normally Tony would be the first one to bitch about twelve-foot flying fucking godzillas, but he's starting to wonder about how much he really does complain. Is it that annoying, really? He keeps quiet, as a test.

Nobody says anything about his silence.

By the time he gets to Central Park, Rogers is beaning one of the creatures in the back of the skull with his shield; it shrieks as an ominous cracking sound snaps through the air and topples to the ground, dead. Similarly, Barton is shooting bundles of arrows through another's eyes from the Hulk's shoulders. Romanov is nowhere to be seen, but that's hardly surprising. Limp or twitching hills of scales are scattered amongst the trees.

Tony abruptly feels useless. Why is he here?

"Stark," Rogers' voice comes through his commlink, "you're late. What took you so long?"

"I was looking for the guy that managed this," he says easily. "Didn't find anything."

"Your orders," Rogers growls, yanking his bloody shield from the back of the rodent's neck, "were to meet us here."

"I didn't slow down or anything," Tony argues. "My tower's a bit of a distance away."

"And you're still just sitting there," Barton scathes between puffs of air. "Why aren't you picking up Natasha?"

"I don't know where she is," Tony protests, only to be interrupted by the archer.

"Have you asked?"

"N-not yet, but I just got here -"

"Why didn't you ask on your way?"

"I was locating you all first, is why," Tony explains angrily. "Would you shut up and let me speak?"

"No," Barton says roughly, "because she's been off comms for almost five minutes and you took your goddamned time getting here -"

"Clint, lay off," Rogers orders. "Stark, go find Natasha and come back here. We should have the rest of these beasts taken care of by then."

"No thanks to you," Barton mutters, and the commlink clicks off.

Tony hasn't felt so miserable in weeks.

"Jarvis," he says wearily, "scan for any Romanov-shaped heat signatures and try to tap into her commlink."

"Sir -"

"Don't." He sighs, turning away from the battle. "Keep the scans for any suspicious figures running, too. I didn't get to tell them the lizards are half android. Though I suppose they should know that by now." He briefly considers reopening the comm, if only to tell them just in case, but decides against it in favor of his headache and wobbling self-esteem.

"Agent Romanov located," Jarvis replies in a monotone, a little red light sparking to life on the HUD. Tony speeds over to her location. "Excess heat rising from her left ankle, sir, with signs of swelling."

"Broken or sprained?" Tony asks, thoughts jumping to the contents of his small first aid kit.

"Most likely a bad sprain, sir."

"Right." He can deal with that.

**8**

Romanov does not want him to deal with that.

"You're making it worse," she snaps as he tries to elevate her leg. "Can't you take off the gauntlets or something?"

It's like dealing with a pregnant woman. "I can do that," he agrees, internally applauding himself for showing so much verbal restraint. Frustration simmers beneath his skin. Jarvis detaches the gauntlets on his command, and she allows him to lift her leg onto his lap with human hands, she looks uneasy when Jarvis finishes his up-close scanning and declares a small fracture.

"I'm not a medical expert," Tony offers, "obviously, but back at the tower there's an infirmary. I could have a med team come over?"

"Why?" Romanov asks, blinking. "Isn't the hospital easier?"

"Hospitals suck," he says promptly, and he knows all the Avengers would agree. Nobody on their team likes hospitals, for various reasons.

"They do." She sighs as he follows his AI's instructions for bandaging her ankle. "How many of those monsters have you taken care of?"

"None," he admits, digging out some tape from the first aid compartment at his hip. "I was sent to find you first."

"You sure took your time," she gripes.

He shrugs, a full-body movement in the suit. "You weren't exactly easy to find," he answers, gesturing to the fallen logs around the two of them. "Especially not when I felt like puking halfway through my flight."

"That bad?" She clicks her tongue. "Maybe you shouldn't have come, then. Like you said, you haven't even taken anything down -"

"Watch it," he says abruptly, fingers squeezing her calf. "I hold your future in my hands." He won't injure her further, and they both know it, but the statement is still there: _quit it_. "Both Barton and Rogers promised they had it handled, and put you as first priority."

She purses her lips, likely reading further between the lines than he'd like. He nods and slips her boot back on, mouth twitching at the sight of green striped socks.

"Barton's under psychological evaluation."

"_What_?" Tony's hands still as he looks up to stare at her incredulously.

"He hasn't been doing so well." Romanov refuses to meet his eyes. "The mess you left us with only exacerbated his stress. They took him off the roster when he punched a superior."

_ Oh_. A bitter feeling curls up in his gut - guilt, which Tony really doesn't know what to do with. "So that's why he's so pissed off."

"It is." She picks at the dirt scraped into her palm.

"And you?" he questions. "Is that why you're so -" he shrugs. "I mean, Rogers always has a stick up his ass, but you usually just lurk in the shadows and try to give me a heart attack."

"Steve's not that bad."

Tony snorts just as his commlink squeals back to life.

"You found her yet?" Barton says gruffly. "We're waiting for you."

"Yeah, I uh, I got her." He offers an arm, gauntlets snapping back into place, and she uses it to pull herself up to balance standing on one leg.

"And when did you find her?"

"A few minutes ago -"

"A few _minutes_?" Barton demands, voice cracking over the connection. "I could have used that information _a few minutes_ ago, Stark."

"And she has a fractured ankle so I tied it up first," Tony finishes, only a little disconcerted.

"You could still have told me when you found her!"

"You didn't call in?" Romanov asks, dismayed. Tony's getting the feeling he fucked up again.

"I was going to bring you over, like they said," he promises. Romanov sighs, swaying a little despite her strong grip on his armor.

"You have to keep them updated, especially your leader," she says. "Communication is key; if you don't talk to everyone else, you're not a part of the team."

Her words hit Tony like a punch to the gut. _Not a part of the team._ Surely it's not that serious. They knew he was going to bring her back, didn't they? Something must show on his face, because she hurries to add, "There's no time to stop and wring checkins out of everyone every five minutes. The Avengers are a response team. They don't have time to stop and wait for you."

_They_. The faceplate slides down, hiding the effect her words have on him. Silently, he offers his arms once again. She makes a face but inches forward, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and lift off the ground.

Barton has his arms crossed with a full-out scowl darkening his face when Tony touches down in the clearing. The stench of dead things permeates the suit and he makes the mistake of wrinkling his nose right as the faceplate slides up.

"Finally," Barton says flatly, reaching out to tug Romanov away from the armor. She doesn't allow the mandhandling, but accepts an arm to limp the few steps over to his side. "We managed to kill a dozen of these ugly bastards while we waited for you."

"And here's your prize," Tony deadpans, waving a hand at the injured agent. "Get a lock on the bad guy?"

"Thor says they're from another realm. He didn't tell me who he thinks could have brought them here, but his face said Loki," Rogers announces, coming up from behind Tony and giving Romanov a professional once-over. "How's the ankle?"

"Been better," she says. Then, "been worse."

Rogers nods, frowning. "Good work finding her," he says to Tony, turning to face the armor. "We were starting to worry about the radio silence."

"He had Natasha the whole time," Barton snits. "We should've sent Thor to get her. At least then we would've heard when he found her."

"No commlink needed," Rogers says wryly. "But then we would've been stuck with Iron Man -"

Ouch. "Excuse you," Tony protests, stepping forward, "my armor is hardly something to be 'stuck with'."

"It's the person inside," Barton explains, turning away and waving at Hulk, who picks up a dismembered godzilla leg and lumbers over to join them. The leg looks a little gnawed on.

"It's just that you're sick," Rogers hastens to explain, "and not the best communicator. It's not personal, really, you're just -"

"Not a team player?" Tony quotes Romanov's words on his profile, hurt. The agent herself makes a face, there and gone again and he wonders what it means. After all, her words are nothing less than true. This is becoming more obvious to him as time passes.

"You're a work in progress," Rogers amends, looking vaguely uncomfortable. He shuffles to the right as Hulk plops to the ground with his lizard leg, pleased as punch.

"A work in progress," Barton agrees, "and I can list all the things you need to improve. First off, you're an asshole."

"Birdie," Hulk rumbles, "be nice." He's - yep, he's definitely chewing the shit out of that leg. Tony, morbidly curious, makes a note to ask Bruce what it tastes like. In the meantime, it's nice to have someone on his side. "Stark's just stupid sometimes."

Or maybe not. "Rude," he answers on autopilot. "I'm a certified genius. This makes me, by default, not stupid."

Hulk snorts. "Says you."

"I feel like you guys are ganging up on me," Tony says casually, "and just, I don't do well in these types of situations, so if you could all knock back a chill pill or twenty, I'd appreciate it."

"Ah," Thor says, appearing from out of fucking nowhere right next to Tony, who jumps about ten feet in the air and clutches at his arc reactor. "Darcy told me about the chill pill. It means we need to calm down." He tilts his head. "Why do we need to calm down?"

"You," Tony manages, "need to not pop into existence right in front of my face. Can you give me warning or something? Okay? I feel like you just shaved five years off my life. Christ."

Thor nods seriously. "I will do my best to do so, for you, Man of Iron."

Sometimes Tony wonders if Thor is even a real person. "Thanks, big guy."

"Any news on the mastermind behind this?" Rogers asks with a perfectly straight face, as though a) this is something people are supposed to say outside of a TV show, and b) he hadn't just been telling Tony he's not good enough to fight with them.

"He seems to have disappeared, leaving little to no trace of his existence," Thor reports.

"Is it Loki?" Clint asks bluntly. Tony pretends not to see the shudder that works through the archer as he asks. "Because if I have to deal with both him and Stark today, I quit."

"You're not quitting," Rogers says patiently, "and if it were Loki, Thor would be sure to tell us."

"Of course," Thor says, clearing his throat. "With this in mind, I feel that I must inform you -"

There's a white light, and then Tony is alone.

"Guys?" he asks cautiously, armor resealing, but all the answer he gets is the honking of someone's car horn a mile or so away. He scans the whole park, Jarvis already telling him what his mind refuses to process: the Avengers have just vanished into thin air a la Thor with the Bifrost, except there's no pattern burnt into the ground.

"So, Man of Iron," a horrifically familiar voice says from behind him. "I hear you're not really an Avenger, so I took the liberty of excluding you from the spell."

Tony whirls around through the sting of hurt - _even the bad guys noticed_? - but there's no one there. "Jarvis," he barks, mind's eye filled with broken glass and holes in the sky and sitting in an empty room.

"Scans indicate no one is present, sir."

"Shit," Tony curses. "Loki?"

A blow to the faceplate knocks him flat on his ass.

"You're still a nuisance, though," he hears through the static of the malfunctioning HUD. "Do stay out of my way for a few hours, will you?"

_ What_? He tries to clear his head, but repeated blows to the helmet prevent him from getting to his knees, or so much as hearing Jarvis' alerts. Red alarms flash before his eyes and he picks out the word CRITICAL before a blow to the back of the head knocks him out completely.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just a quick update while I gather my thoughts for next chapter. Enjoy, and thank you all so much for your reviews, favourites, and follows. _

**8**

There's a buzzing sound on the edge of his hearing. Curious, Tony tries to reach for it.

"..."

It's hard to move amongst all the black.

"...r..."

Hey, he got something. Suddenly anxious, he pauses. Does he want to know what the buzzing is saying?

"Sir."

Red washes over the black and he jumps back into consciousness.

"Sir, you must wake up."

"'Mhere, J." But speaking hurts, his mouth dry and bitter tasting. He groans. "Th'fuck?"

"Welcome back, sir," and that's relief in Jarvis's voice. "You're exhibiting signs of a severe concussion. I would advise you try to move carefully."

A concussion? Tony frowns as he tries to remember what that is. When it comes to him, so does everything else. "Feel like I met the business end of a bomb," he grunts, squinting at the blank HUD. Rather than a three dimensional screen, there's a spiderweb of cracks and a dent pressing into his cheekbone. Also, opening his eyes is proving to have been a mistake. "Any news on the team?" he asks, locating his limbs and forcing himself to his hands and knees. A wave of nausea gives him pause while he focuses on not throwing up.

"None, sir," Jarvis says apologetically. Tony's so fucking thankful his AI can tap through the comms in situations like this. "Though I feel I should inform you that privacy settings have been activated on the common floor of Avengers Tower."

"Only the team can do that," Tony mutters, surprised. His head pounds as he tries to think. "Thought you said you didn't have anything on them."

"The Avengers were not present when this happened," Jarvis reports. "Presently I am unable to perceive the goings-on of that floor."

"Privacy mode'll do that to ya," Tony sighs, sinking back to the ground. Grey spots at the edges of his vision make it hard to focus. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "I'll uh, when I get back t' the Tower I'll give the override."

"Sir," Jarvis says, alarmed, "please stay awake. You must get to a medical facility."

"Hrnnng," he mumbles. "Later."

"Sir, please -"

**8**

"Mr Stark -"

"Iron Man -"

"Is he awake?"

"Somebody tap the helmet or something."

"Is he alive?"

"Is that blood?"

Tony groans. The noises outside stop.

"J, why is it so noisy?"

"News crews and journalists have gathered around you, sir."

"People?" he asks, muddled. "Why are there people?"

"Because," and now Jarvis sounds nothing short of miffed, "you've been lying in the armor in the middle of a battlefield for no less than seven hours."

Tony garbles unintelligibly. "Why."

"You have a concussion, sir. We've had this discussion four times."

"Hm." He cracks his eyes open, and in the absence of blinding light, blinks. "Does that mean permanent damage?"

"Fortunately for you, sir, short-term encoding failure is common for people with concussions."

"Oh, good."

"Mr Stark, are you alright?" A woman's voice from outside. Tony lifts his head off the ground, neck protesting at the weight of the crushed helmet. The HUD is dark.

"Peachy," he sighs.

"The suit should come online in ninety-seven seconds, sir," Jarvis promises.

Tony scowls, peeved. "Why didn't this happen sooner? Preferably seven hours ago?"

"You were concussed," Jarvis says primly, "and in no state to pilot the suit." "And?" "And an unknown enemy suspected to be Loki drained the power reserves."

Tony's head hits the ground. "Fffffffffffuck."

"Mr Stark?" Another voice from outside.

"Yep," he yells, "I'm good!" This time his voice makes it through the cracked and damaged helmet, starting a flurry of mutterings and activity.

"Mr Stark, can you tell us what happened?"

"Mr Stark, would you mind telling us why you're still in Central Park?"

"Mr Stark, where is your team?"

That gives Tony pause. "J, where's the team?" he demands.

"At the moment I am unable to locate the Avengers," says Jarvis. "I am sorry, sir."

"Why?"

Jarvis is so kind to tell him the answers everything he's been asking for the last seven hours.

"So then they have to be on the common floor," Tony realizes. "Were they invisible or something? You have the tech to sense them, J."

"I do, sir," his AI agrees. "They simply were not there."

"But what -"

"Suit online," Jarvis announces above the familiar whine of the suit rebooting. Instantly the weight of the suit is gone as the joints lock up millimeters above where they were digging into his skin.

"Pins and needles, pins and needles," Tony moans. "Ow."

"Which medical facility would you prefer?" asks Jarvis. A list of nine appears on the HUD, rendered illegible by the damage to the screen.

"The Tower," Tony decides.

"But sir, you are in no state to confront anyone," Jarvis protests, "physically or emotionally."

Tony narrows his eyes. "The Tower, Jarvis."

"But sir -"

"I'll get scanned in the new med floor after I check out the common floor, okay?"

"Fine," Jarvis says, with far too much sass and petulance for an AI his age. The suit helps Tony push himself to his feet, working through the dizziness and nausea and pain that punches him in the gut.

"Am I bleeding?" he asks no one in particular, and apparently the suit's speakers are back online because he gets a solid round of "yes"es by the crowd he can sort of see around him. A reporter or something steps closer.

"Mr Stark," she begins, and oh boy, "why isn't your team here to help you?"

"Good question," he grunts without thinking. Then he realizes what he just said and sighs. "Look guys," he says, projecting his voice, "I'm on Avengers business at the moment, so if you'll clear out some I can get out of here and find my team. And get this stupid helmet off. It's digging into places it shouldn't be digging into."

"You're injured," someone says in alarm. "Of course I'm injured," Tony says, exasperated. "I'm concussed. Now give me room."

The crowd dutifully backs up several feet.

"J," Tony commands, "take me to Avengers Tower."


	4. Chapter 4

_Here's where you decide whether or not you feel like sticking around. The plot picks up from here, so here's hoping you stay! /salutes with a can of soda/ _

**8**

"Who is the President of the United States?"

"President Ellis, Jesus _Christ_, Jarvis, I'm fine -"

"What is the name of your first date?"

"I -" Tony frowns. "I don't know. Shit, is that -"

"No, sir, you never learned her name."

"Oh. Alright."

"You seem to be alright, sir," Jarvis reassures him. "I would still recommend the MRI, to check for bleeding."

"Can't, sorry, the arc reactor interferes -"

"You altered one to not be affected, sir, and you know it," Jarvis interrupts, reproving. "Don't argue. I just want to make sure you are truly out of danger."

"Yeah, alright."

"WebMD suggests nonaspirin and rest under observation," Jarvis states.

"Sure, fine," Tony agrees. "I've got you and the boys, right? No painkillers," he adds, even as his head throbs with Migraine's little bitch brother.

"Perhaps that would be best," Jarvis concedes.

Tony hovers over the platform leading to the Car Wash, indecisive.

_I'm disgusted. _

_Don't be such a baby. _

_Stow your problems or stay behind, Stark._

_ How did he even get on this team? _

_Maybe you should stay behind_.

"Sir?" Jarvis prompts. Tony startles, the suit jumping up a foot or so in his surprise.

"Yep, yeah, no, I'm just thinking about the problems the car wash is gonna have with the uh," Tony scrambles for a way to complete his lie, "helmet. I hear it's damaged enough that you can see blood. Which is gross, like its skin split and bled. Cuz, you know, that would make the suit kind of humanlike in a creepy and disturbing way. Flesh and blood and all. Scowly face. Hands and really well done finger joints, I'm so proud of those -"

"Sir," Jarvis slides his way into Tony's tirade, "you do not have to go inside."

"I know, Jarvis," Tony replies, nerves all twisted up inside. "But I'm going to, anyways."

"Please disengage privacy mode so I may join you," Jarvis requests, and who is Tony to deny him?

"Course I will. Just gotta... brave the car wash."

"The car wash. Of course."

He doesn't move. "It might hurt, J," Tony says softly, and he's not talking about having the helmet removed.

"I will be here," his AI promises. Tony takes comfort from that, knowing full well they understand each other perfectly.

The car wash is a goddamn work of art, a technological marvel, even for Tony Stark. All he has to do is drop onto the landing pad and walk, and mechanical arms equipped with the highest quality recognition software unfold and remove the armor safely, as programmed. He doesn't often use it when the suit is damaged, though, and it shows; Tony barely resists the urge to scream like a little girl when the arms try to tug the faceplate upwards, as is the norm, causing the dents and tears in the metal to bite into his skin.

"Knock it off," he snaps, batting them away. "Jarvis can do it. J?"

"Integrating," Jarvis says in a monotone. "Integration complete." The arms shudder, collapsing, before picking up and moving with precision to remove his battered helmet as carefully as possible. "Do try to hold still, sir."

The rest of the car wash goes smoothly. Tony remembers the first time the other Avengers saw him using it - he's mostly sure they were joking about him being lazy and throwing money at things he didn't feel like doing himself. For the first time he wonders if they even know he designed and built it.

It's harder to step down from the boots than he expected. There's a minuscule hop to the floor that he normally doesn't think about, but the jolt sends him reeling. He stumbles forward, hand to his head, and collides with the wall. It takes him a few moments of just standing there to regain his equilibrium.

"Ow," he says when he can stand straight. "Maybe I do need to go lay down."

"Indeed," Jarvis says dryly. "Please disengage privacy mode. I cannot follow you onto that floor."

"Sure."

Every step is torture. Tony shuffles his way to the elevator, one hand on any available surface and the other half shielding his eyes from the artificial lights that turned on at dusk. The elevator is worse. Even though it's the smoothest, fastest ride in the country, possibly the world, Tony can feel every jerk and bump, hear the whistle of the tin box dropping and it's one of the worst experiences he's had in a while. By the time it stops on the common floor, he's bent double and trying not to throw up. The halt is so abrupt he topples over, hitting his head on the chrome wall.

"God, why," he groans from the floor.

The doors slide open with a cheerful chime.

**8**

Privacy mode is activated by either verbal command or inputting the code into the system via the keypad by the elevator doors. Deactivating privacy mode can only be done with the code. One hand on the wall, Tony staggers over to the stupid fucking keypad and viciously punches his override in. There's a familiar hum as Jarvis reactivates his systems in the walls. Hidden security cameras and alarms quietly come to life, subtle as ever and damn near invisible to anyone but Tony and the spies.

"Now," Tony says peevishly, preparing himself for he daunting task of turning around and dealing with his team, "I'd like a good explanation for why you guys ditched me at Central Park, pretty fucking please -"

He freezes at a small sniffling sound. "Is that Barton I hear?" he asks in what he hopes is a teasing tone. He turns around slowly, in case there's a gun at his head. Hopefully it's not the ugly Soviet piece of crap, if he's going to die at least let it be by his own hand, however indirect -

"Mister?" a tiny blond boy says, voice quivering. His blue eyes are huge, red-rimmed with dark shadows. He wipes his running nose on the massively oversized lump of blue leather he's got draped over his body. "You're bleeding. Are you okay?"

Tony stares, shocked. Two other small kids come up, wide-eyed and curious. Another two hang back, wary of him.

"Steve Rogers?" he finally splutters. The little blond boy nods cautiously. Tony's gaze drifts to the others. "Is that - are you Thor?"

A bigger blond grins. "That's my name!" he says proudly.

"Oh my god," Tony says faintly. "Okay. Sure. And I bet that's Bruce over there, probably Barton there, so you're Natasha..."

"My name is Natalia," the redheaded girl corrects him, in flawless Russian.

"Oh, sure, of course," he says weakly. "Natalia. Um. Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Are hallucinations a symptom of grade three concussions?" "I'm afraid this is very real, sir. I am indeed surprised as well."

"Yeah," he mutters, tottering over to the couch. "I just uh, need to rest a minute. Call me when the world makes sense."

"Sir, you should call for Miss Potts -"

He hits the cool black leather and passes out.


	5. Chapter 5

There's a length of grey sky and dead grass between him and Loki.

"Your 'practical villainy' doesn't look all that practical from here," Tony says, arms crossed.

Loki grins, gaunt and sinister. His arms are lax at his sides, though one hand twitches toward his coat occasionally: a sure sign of a weapons user itching for some form of defense. Tony feels just a little smug about that. "Oh, it's practical," he replies. "It's mostly a matter of my lifetime versus yours."

"Nope, I don't get it," Tony says flippantly. "Try again."

Loki's smile frays around the edges. "I wouldn't expect you to 'get it.' Think of it this way: children are nothing but bright eyes and malleable minds." The smile flashes brittle. "You can stuff anything into their heads and they'll believe it."

"So, teach them to be your little servants, and then what?" asks Tony. "Have them grow up that way? You won't be doing anything to stop anyone causing you problems on this planet today."

"If I do it right," Loki says, "I don't have to wait."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It doesn't concern you," Loki snaps, "because you were too useless for me to bother with."

Tony jerks back like he's been slapped. "Excuse you?" he blusters. "I'm the smartest person on the team!"

"And the most arrogant, the most stubborn, the most foolish, and the weakest." Loki shrugs. "To put it plainly, you have too many problems. You're damaged, you were even at a young age. It would be too much trouble to try to train you. All you have going for you is the Iron Man, and you didn't build that at age four."

That does it. "Is this my subconscious speaking?" he demands, staring up at the sky. "Am I dreaming? You're voicing too many of my issues at once to be real."

"This is, in fact, a dream," Loki agrees. "But it is real."

Tony narrows his eyes. "So, what, you broke into my dream to insult me?"

"Essentially," says Loki. "Though I'm also answering your questions."

"One more, then," Tony says, scowling. "Why haven't you taken the kids and run?"

"Call me curious," his enemy says, devilish smile returning. "You just have so many daddy issues. I'm wondering how long it'll take before you turn to the drink, much like your own father. You won't last very long, I don't think."

If nothing else, that burns. "Get the fuck out of my dream," he snarls. Loki grins wider before vanishing, the afterimage of his smile imprinted in Tony's mind.

**8**

"Tony? Tony, please.

"I will have Dummy douse you with the fire extinguisher."

"Hrreegh?" Tony mumbles, easing into wakefulness. "Pep?"

"Yes, Tony. Jarvis called."

"What for?" he asks, and he truly can't work out why until the headache slams back into him. He actually flinches at the force of it, slapping a hand over his eyes before he can open them. "Right," he continues, and it's significantly harder to speak clearly and still be loud enough for Jarvis to pick up. "I think my symptoms are getting worse. J?"

"Post concussion syndrome, sir," Jarvis says immediately. "In which people who have suffered multiple concussions through their lives are more likely to retain symptoms such as light sensitivity, chronic headaches, and dizziness for an extended period of time. There is also a risk of permanency."

Tony groans. "Kill me now."

"Or," Pepper's voice returns, and Tony can tell it's not a live video by the sound quality, "you could send those doctors from the med floor up to give you a prolotherapy injection."

"A what?"

"Do you remember when the LA headquarters was bombed last year?" Pepper asks. "And I got hit in the head?"

"Sure," Tony replies. "I still don't know how you just walked it off."

"I 'walked it off' after a prolotherapy injection," she explains. "It's usually a shot to the neck so it hurts, but it reduces the internal swelling and you're good to go in fifteen minutes."

"Awesome," Tony says, "I want one."

**8**

"So they said I have to sit here longer, because it took so long to get the shot," Tony complains. Pepper was right: the shot hurt, and it took three minutes for the doctor to brave stabbing him in the neck.

"And you'll do it," Pepper decides.

Tony makes a face, vision clear and headache fading. Thank fuck. "I've been sitting here long enough. I have stuff to do."

"I just cleared your schedule for the next three days so you can recover," Pepper says promptly. "As your boss and ex-girlfriend, I am well within my rights to leave you to suffer, but I didn't. Here's where you say thank you."

"Thank you, Pep," Tony obliges. "I'm glad you can just say that so casually." And he mostly is, it just still hurts for him to think about. He never quite understood why he isn't good enough for her ("Is it something I did?" he'd asked, and she'd kissed him on the cheek and said sadly, "It's not that, Tony, I promise. It's that our relationship is the company. Aside from Stark Industries, we just have nothing in common."). "But I still have important stuff to deal with."

"You better not be talking about the workshop, Tony, because I swear -"

"Not the workshop," Tony says irritably, "I have kids." There's a long pause, during which he realizes how he neglected to tell her about the team. Ah, shit.

"Kids?" Pepper repeats dangerously. "You have kids?"

"Uh yes, in my house, right now, in the - Jarvis, where are they?"

"In the room to your right, sir, watching Snow White."

"Right. Kids in the other room, watching a Disney movie. Well," he considers, "the Terrible Twins are probably plotting my execution, but hey. Semantics."

"Twins, Tony?" Pepper questions. "How old are they?"

"Uh, little?" Tony tries. He thinks about his dream-not-dream and adds, "maybe four-ish."

"And when did you think it might be a good idea to tell me you have children?" Now her voice is icing over and Tony realizes he's doing this all wrong.

"They just appeared, out of nowhere," he protests, "like, yesterday. Or today. I dunno, time's been a little muggy."

"How muggy, Tony! How many children do you have!"

"Five," he answers smartly. "All age four."

"Five - five children? Did you forget what a condom is that year?"

"Oh Jesus, no. No, they're not mine. Well, sort of, I'm responsible for them, but -"

"How are you sort of the father of five kids?"

"Whoa," Tony objects, "nobody said I was the father. Hell no."

"Are you trying to tell me these are your teammates' children, because -"

"No, Pep, I swear," he says, relieved for an opportunity, "it's that my teammates are kids. All five," he adds into the silence. "Age four. Thanks, Loki."

There's a click as Pepper hangs up.

"Great."

**8**

He's barely moved when she calls back.

"Explain," is all she says, and it's enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_So, first off, for all you folks who hoped for this to take a different turn, tada! I hereby answer your calls with what is, essentially, an opposites fic. It features generally the same starting plot, but with a different twist, featuring kid!Tony, and will be titled I Wanted to Say This. I'll be putting this one up soon._

_Now, I'm doing this for two reasons: first off, I've gotten some messages from people who insulted this fic and offended me because it didn't go the way they wanted. I gotta say, guys, this isn't fair. If you read the prompt at all you would know exactly what will happen. This new fic is partially in answer to the rude dissenters. However, it's also for me. I hate to say this (har har) but those people made me stop and think about how this fic would go if Tony were de-aged instead. The perfect prompter came around, and it was like all the blanks in my secondary story line were filled. Thus, the new fic._

_I won't be abandoning this one, of course. This is mostly as thanks to you, the readers, especially to the commenters. Comments mean the world to me, because without comments it feels like I'm alone in the little universe I created. Which is sad._

_Anyways, keep on being awesome. Enjoy the update._

_**8**_

They discuss the events leading up to the situation as the moon rises in the sky. The talk mostly consists of Tony's encounter with Loki, which Pepper seems to enjoy fuming over. He doesn't tell her about the dream.

"So now you have kids."

"Now I have kids," Tony agrees, slouching into the couch cushions. There's a long pause. He thinks he might be able to hear the kids bickering in the other room.

"Well," Pepper says finally, "you won't have to worry about it much longer."

Tony starts. "What?" he asks, confused and more than a little hopeful. "Are you coming to help me with them?"

"I'm solving your problem from right here," she answers firmly. "Jarvis will fax you the papers. In the meantime I suggest you call SHIELD again -"

"Again?" And Tony realizes he hasn't thought of the agency at all.

"I took the liberty of attempting to contact SHIELD when you were knocked unconscious, sir," Jarvis admits. "They did not answer."

"Why not?"

"I am unsure," Jarvis says. "Their phone lines seem to be disconnected."

Tony groans. "First kids, now SHIELD? Call Fury's personal phone."

"Dialing."

"Stark?" Fury's voice crackles over a shitty connection - sign number one of a cheap burner phone. "How did you get this number? Do I even want to know?"

"Nope," Tony says cheerfully. "So what's up with SHIELD, Angry? Why'd you ditch me in Central Park? I'm hurt. I thought we had something."

"SHIELD is compromised six ways to Sunday," is Fury's response. "But not in the conventional way."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means we're all on involuntary quarantine," Fury snaps. "We're all locked in the building, separated from the tech that could get us out. The power's out, the emergency nine inch thick steel doors are closed, locked, and overridden, and anything that looks like it could be an escape route is sealed tight enough that we can't get through."

It takes Tony a while to process this. "You're stuck in HQ?"

"That's what I said. We could really use Thor's hammer right about now."

Tony glances to the left, spotting said hammer lying on its side. "Yeah, not happening."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because I've got a bunch of mini Avengers running around my tower, and no big Avengers in sight."

"God fucking - are you kidding me right now?" demands Fury. Tony shrugs.

"'Fraid not."

"Fix it." The line goes dead.

"That's the second time I've been hung up on today," Tony says. "I'm starting to take it personally."

"I'm so sorry, "Pepper apologizes, line still open. "Here, I just sent the papers to you."

"It's fine." Tony waves a hand. "J, pull up the papers Pep sent. And, uh, why don't you go hop in a suit and see what you can do about HQ, yeah?"

"Of course, sir." One by one, digital files pop up in front of him. Tony grimaces. Legal work. "Great. What is all this even for?"

This is why he hates dealing with the law. If a lawyer can draw a sentence out to the point where it's physically painful to understand, they'll do it. He much prefers that they'd just get to the point. Which is why he's not sure he properly understands what he's looking at.

"Pep," he says, clearing his throat. "Pepperpot, what exactly am I reading here? Because it looks a lot like -"

"Five sets of papers for foster care?"

"Yes, that, and I don't understand why I'm looking at these." He swallows his anxiety, leaning in closer as though the words will suddenly make sense. "They have the team's names on them, Pep, what -"

"SHIELD can't care for kids," she says bluntly. "I don't have time to do it. And neither can you. They have no known relatives, aside from Thor, but we have no way to contact his family. You have less than no experience with children."

"I have the bots," Tony argues. "I take care of them."

"They're bots, Tony," Pepper says with a hint of exasperation. "I know you love them, but they're not the children you think they are. They don't require love, attention, three meals a day and bathtime. They aren't, aren't real. Not like a human is."

And that hurts, hurts deeply because he thought she knew how he cares about his bots. Then again, maybe she does. "Pep -"

"No, Tony," she says. "You can't do it, and I'm not going to let you try it. Sign the papers. We'll have the children out and dealt with by morning."

"But what if they turn back?" is the only argument he can think of.

"Then they turn back," she says simply. "And we have the Avengerd again."

"Pepper, I -"

"Sign the papers, Tony," she says, quieter, "please."

He actually considers it for a few seconds.

"No."

"No?" Pepper repeats, incredulous. "Tony, listen to me -"

"The team would do it if I were turned into a kid," Tony interrupts. "They wouldn't send me off to some random asshole's house. I trust them to take care of me," no matter how nightmarish the mental image is, no matter what they say to him, "and they trust me to take care of them now." He hopes.

"Tony," she protests. "Prepared, responsible parents have trouble with just one child. You are neither prepared nor a parent, and you're not great about your own care and keeping. You can't honestly think you can handle five kids. It's just not feasible."

"You can't change my mind, Pepper," he says, wondering if he's finally lost it. "I can do it."

"But Tony -"

"Jarvis," he commands, and yep, he's gone mad, "delete the files. I never saw them."

"If you're sure, sir," and the pages disappear one by one.

Pepper sighs, and Tony's so glad he can't see her face. "This isn't a good idea."

"I know," he says agreeably.

"And not just because you're trying to play parent to five kids," she adds. "It's just... you know, you all have..."

"Issues?"

"... right. Issues. And how much do you know about your team's histories? For a lot of people, their problems start in childhood."

"They never did want to tell me much," Tony admits, "which I think is sort of unfair, considering they know everything about me."

"Oh god, Tony," she groans, and there's a thudding sort of sound that implies her head just hit the desk. "You could walk all over their triggers."

"I'll make it work," he assures her. "I'm good at that, making things work."

"People aren't machines," she sighs, "and I think that's the point you're missing here."

Tony stays silent.

Another sigh. "Look, Tony," she tries, "I want to think you can do this. I understand what the team means to you. I do. And that's why I'm giving you four days to prove you can care for them until they turn back. Okay?"

"Four days?" he repeats, confused. "Are you going to come over and, what, check on me?"

"If I have to," she replies. "I'm serious about this, Tony. It's not going to be easy. If you have problems, you have to let me know. Okay?"

"I will," he promises. "Seriously, Pep. I can do this."

"We'll see," she says, and hangs up.

There's a long silence, during which Tony starts to process the reality of the responsibility he just took on. Responsibility gives him hives. What is he doing?

"Miss Potts means well, sir," Jarvis says.

"I know," he says. "And that's why I'm not mad. This is why we didn't work out, right?"

"Perhaps part of it, sir."

"I'm starting to see it.

"How are the kids, J?"

"There seems to be a scuffle. A child identified as Steven Rogers approaches."

Sure enough, Tony hears a door swing open and little footsteps as the small child appears.

"Mister," he says fearfully, eyes wide and chest heaving. He clutches the blue leather on his chest. "The other boy is being mean! He hit Clint!"

Oh god. Here it comes. "Which other boy?" he asks, getting to his feet and following little Steve back to the other kids.

"The one who didn't tell us his name, with brown hair."

"Bruce?" he asks sharply, but Steve just shrugs.

"Dunno."

There's yelling and crying on the other side of the door. Tony feels the first stirrings of anxiety in his chest at the sound of a child's distress. He pushes the door open.

The sandy-haired child, Clint, is sprawled on the rug with a hand to his cheek, tears in his eyes as he hiccups and sobs. Thor crouches next to him, offering a hand. Tony catches a glimpse of scarlet behind a chair.

And Bruce, the little brown-haired boy, is screaming unintelligibly at the two boys on the rug, hands balled into fists and slowly turning green.


	7. Chapter 7

_This is the part where I tell you I'm using Hulk (2003) canon instead of The Incredible Hulk (with Edward Norton, currently used as MCU canon). This is cuz I like it better. If you're not familiar with this film, feel free to watch it, or not. Either way you'll be reading about it in this fic._

_**8**_

"Bruce?" Tony approaches him slowly, warily, hands up in the universal "I-mean-no-harm" position. "You okay, buddy?"

The young boy looks up at him, face scrunched up and furious tears leaking from his eyes. "Go away!" he shrieks, throwing his hands up. He stumbles off the couch and backs away. "Get out!"

This is where logic comes in. Tony eyes the deep green splotching his face and arms. From what he knows, that shouldn't be happening. The incident with the Hulk serum and the radiation didn't happen at such a young age. Could Loki not take away the Hulk?

But when he stops and thinks about it, the patchy green spots look a little different than normal, and nothing's swelling up as the child's rage and fear builds. "Bruce," he says cautiously, "you're turning green."

Bruce's shoulders jump up to his ears. "So?" he demands. "I always do that. I don't wanna talk to you! Adults are mean!"

"I will have you know I am the coolest adult I know," Tony retorts refexively. Strangely enough, Bruce seems to actually stop and consider that.

"Prove it," he declares. Tony notes that, with his distraction, the jade spots are fading.

"I build robots," Tony says challengingly. "I have cool cars. I don't like vegetables. Sleepovers are fun." Okay, the last one, he's not so sure about. The only sleepovers he's eve had involved sex good enough for a porno... mostly. But television makes kiddy sleepovers seem fun enough, right?

Bruce's eyes narrow dangerously, but before he can speak, another kid speaks up. "I don't see no robots."

It's Clint, sitting up and clutching his purpling cheek. He scowls up at Tony. "B'sides, robots ain't real 'n I don't trust you."

"That's fine," Tony says, turning to face the boy. What're adults supposed to do here? There's a thing that adults are supposed to do, he knows, to make kids like them better.

He thinks of the adults from his past, dressed to the nines and looming over him. Talking down to him, acting like they were his superiors and relishing in it. He remembers hating it, wishing he could prove himself. Wishing he could be as tall as them, so they couldn't look down their noses like that.

Mind made up, Tony plops down onto the floor next to Clint, who yelps and scrambles back into Thor.

"Look, kids," he says, "I don't know why you started fighting, but I'd like to hear why. Anybody want to share?"

Bruce inches closer, wide-eyed but no longer shaking. "It's my fault," he volunteers. "Sorry, Clint."

Clint nods warily, eyes darting between the other boy's hands and face. "'S okay." He turns to Tony, still suspicious but willing to cooperate. "He hit me cuz we were talking about where our families was, an' I said he prolly didn't have any. Cuz he sat by himself and didn't talk."

"I don't have a family," Bruce says miserably. "I dunno where my dad is but my mom's gone."

"Gone, gone?" Thor suddenly speaks up, curious. "Like a warrior's death gone?"

Bruce makes a face. "Mom's not a warrior," he says, "she's a mom. And she's gone because there was blood and the doctors said they couldn't do anything. I think dad did it," he adds in a hushed voice, almost a whisper. Tony sucks in a breath at the implications: how much did he see of it? is he saying his father murdered his mother? He wants very badly to reach over and give the sad little boy a hug, but he's giving of don't-touch-me vibes so strongly he keeps quiet.

Thor has no such compunctions. "I don't understand," he says, scrunching up his face. "My mom's a mom and a warrior. She and father are teaching me how to be a warrior, too."

"My dad was a soldier," Steve volunteers, tottering closer from the doorway, where he'd been silently watching. "That's kinda like a warrior."

"Okay!" Tony claps his hands once, forcing on a smile and stopping this conversation before it gets out of hand. "Look at all of us sharing our life stories, it's great. Now, we need to make sure this doesn't happen again. You could really hurt each other. Especially you, big guy." He points at Thor. "Be gentle."

Thor scoffs and opens his mouth, only to shut it when Tony raises an eyebrow.

"Mister?"

"Yeah?" Tony turns to Steve, who's as tall standing up as Tony is sitting down. He looks pensive.

"Where's my mom?"

Ohhhh god, and he hasn't even thought of what to say to that. He sort of gapes and flaps a hand for a few seconds before managing, "Babysitter. I'm your babysitter."

"Liar." That's Natasha, speaking flawless Russian as she creeps forward from around the couch. She's scowling. "You're our new handler."


	8. Chapter 8

"Come again?" Tony says blankly, staring at the young girl. "A handler? Do I look like a handler to you?"

"You all look different," Natalia says dismissively, glowering.

"I'm speaking English," Tony feels the need to point out. "You're not."

She hesitates now. "I don't like to," she says. "All my other handlers were mean about it."

Aha. Sensing a weak spot, Tony presses, "I won't be. I promise."

"You all say that," she complains, arms crossing tighter. Her empty scowl bleeds away to show a distressed frown. "But you're all mean."

"I'm not a handler," Tony says firmly. "Watch, I've been learning Russian, but I'm really bad at it."

"You all speak Russian," she mutters.

"Maybe they do," Tony concedes, "but I'm only learning so I can speak with y - with a friend. It was her first language, and she uses it sometimes so no one can understand her. I wanna speak it with her, so that we can have secret conversations."

"That's silly."

He smiles. "But it's fun. How about this." He goes to sit a few feet away from her. "I'll try speaking Russian, and then you'll try speaking English. Okay? I won't tease you."

Slowly, she nods.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath before attempting a sentence in clumsy Russian. "I like to eat pie."

Natalia (Natasha, Natalie, god he can never win) wrinkles her nose, seemingly unable to help a smile. "You're bad at Russian."

"Thanks," Tony deadpans in English. "Your turn."

She abruptly looks nervous again. "I don't -"

"You said."

"I know..."

"Wait." Bruce takes a couple steps closer, wiping his tears away with one oversized sleeve. "What game are you playing? I wanna play too!"

"Sure," he says amiably, pulling the kid closer. He pretends he doesn't notice how Bruce tenses up before relaxing into Tony's (awkward awkward awkward) one-armed hug. "Natalia here is gonna practice speaking English. You can be the judge with me."

"What's a judge?" Another voice pipes up, the child it came from tugging on his shirt. It's Clint, cheek bruised and looking desperately curious. Distrust apparently forgotten, he inches closer to Tony's other side.

I thought you didn't trust me, Tony doesn't say. Instead, "a judge is someone who makes decisions based on evidence. Natalia here thinks she's bad at speaking English, so I told her if she tries I can decide whether she really is bad or not."

"Can I be a judge, too?" Steve asks, wiping his nose for the hundredth time. Tony's nose itches just thinking about it.

"Of course you can."

"Thanks!" Steve says with a smile, and tucks himself under Tony's free arm. Clint makes a noise to match the sudden scowl on his face, and drops himself into Tony's cross-legged lap instead.

Oh god. What. All that's left is -

"I wish to join you!" Thor cries, and tackles his spine with a kidgardian hug. Tony chokes on air for a couple seconds, until the body slam feels less like someone just threw him into a wall and more like a hug from behind. Thor's head pops up between Tony's cheek and Bruce's hair.

"Okay," he wheezes. "Sure. Natalia, you good?"

Somehow, impossibly, she looks more anxious than before. "I can't."

"Why not?" Tong challenges.

"Because I'm no good," and she's an inch from wailing over it, "and now there's lots of people watching and I'm gonna mess up!"

"What's she saying?" Clint whispers loudly. Tony rolls his eyes.

"That if you don't stop talking now she's going to tie you to the ceiling by your toes."

"Not my toes!" Clint gasps, grabbing at his bare feat. Bruce and Steve laugh. Thor just makes a confused noise.

Natalia giggles hysterically for a few seconds before slapping a hand over her mouth. "I didn't!" she protests, grinning.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to tell them that, then, because that's what I heard."

"I'm gonna."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Mhm."

She glares at him, to which he responds with a winning smile. The boys wait with baited breath, intent on playing their roles as judges.

"I didn't say that," she says finally, achingly slow, in heavily accented English.

There's a long pause.

"Did you just say..." Clint frowns thoughtfully, "that you didn't say that?"

"Didn't say what?" Bruce inquires.

"I wouldn't do that to your toes," she says, still in English. She's fluent, Tony approves, or nearly. It's her accent that's warping her words. He opens his mouth to congratulate her, but she surprises them all with a wicked grin as she continues, "I would string you up like a spider does a fly."

Clint shrieks in mock terror, waving an arm that hits Tony in the jaw and upsets a cozy-looking Steve.

"Ow," they both complain. Clint smiles sheepishly.

"Looks like you pass," Tony says with a smile. "We can all understand you. Right, Thor? Steve?"

That's when he notices the growing wet spot on his shirt, right about where Steve's mouth should be. On closer inspection, he discovers that the boy isn't just cozy: he's asleep.

"Okay," he says, at a loss. "Well, speaking for Steve, your English is fine. Good. Great."

Natalia beams.

"I don't understand," Thor says, bewildered. "I knew what she was saying the whole time."

"You know what I'm saying?" she asks in Russian. He nods.

"You all sound the same," he confirms.

"That's because you have All-Speak," Tony remembers. "You can understand what everyone's saying, even in different languages."

"What do you mean?" Thor asks, brow furrowed. His grip around Tony's waist tightens. "Here there is only one language."

And oh, but Tony has a really bad feeling about this. "Uh, Thor..."

The Asgardian's fingers dig into his skin painfully. "Am I not on Asgard?"

"Well," Tony tries, "no, but -"

"No?" Thor jerks back. "Then where -? Midgard?"

"Yeah, actually, um -"

"That's why you wear different clothes!" he exclaims, looking to be an inch away from panic. Or a pinkie length, or whatever system Asgardians measure with. "And why everything is so different!" He darts out the door.

"Jarvis," Tony calls, alarmed, "stop him! Kids, watch Steve and stay put." He wiggles his way out of their grasp and lurches to his feet. "Thor could get himself hurt, and we don't want that -" He's out the door before he can finish his own sentence, tearing down the corridor.

As suspected, he finds Thor on a balcony. Less expected is the mass of wood and glass that was four different doors. He curses and wrenches what's left of them open to catch the kid.

Thor's shaking and sobbing, shivering in the cold and bleeding from dozens of rapidly-healing cuts.

"Shit," Tony says, "Thor, buddy -"

"Heimdall!" the boy screams at the sky. "Why won't you answer me!" He turns on Tony. "What did you do!"

"I didn't do anything," Tony says, trying to stay calm, but it's hard to when he knows that Thor is both devastated and hurt, and also capable of snapping Tony's neck if he so felt like it. "Calm down, Thor, you just need your hammer -"

"I don't have a hammer!" he shrieks. "Why won't Heimdall answer me!"

"Um, uh -" Tony wracks his brain for the answer, trying to remember if he'd ever asked. "Something about the hammer. There's a lot of people in this city, millions, and I don't think he can focus on only one person when there's so many so close together. So -"

"Loki will know," Thor says, quieting instantly. "Loki will know what to do."

"What?" is all that comes out of Tony's mouth.

"Loki," Thor says raggedly, insistent. He shakes his hair out of his face. "He's my little brother, but he knows everything. He's this tall," Thor gestures to his own shoulder, "and has, has green eyes and black hair." He turns a hopeful gaze, only a minute ago so wrathful and terrified, on Tony. "Have you seen my brother?"


	9. Chapter 9

_This is more proof that I'm alive than anything else... actual plot to come soon. Thank you for your patience and kind words. uvu_

**8**

"You know where he is!" the kid says with a mix of hope and anger.

"I don't," Tony says immediately, honestly. "But I have seen him. Not for long, mind you, but I did." At Thor's expression he adds, "when I talked to him he gave me this." He jabs at the jagged cut on his cheek.

Thor nods. "He sometimes does that." A pause. "Is he in this building with us?"

"No," Tony says apologetically, thank fucking god he's not. "I don't know where he is. But we'll find him."

"Do you swear?" Thor asks hopefully, tears dried.

"I swear," Tony says darkly. "We'll find that little - kid."

There's a sudden gust of wind, not uncommon so high up but clearly Thor wasn't expecting it; he yelps and staggers backward, closer to the unprotected edge of the balcony. Tony lunges forward and grabs at the oversized tunic he wears, getting a handful and dragging the boy away from the edge. Tony keeps a tight hold as it dies down, putting himself between the wide-eyed kid and the wind. Neither of them speak until it passes.

"C'mon," Tony says eventually, tugging Thor to the door. "Back inside, before you hurt yourself."

"Wait." (Un)surprisingly, he makes no headway against a stubborn god of thunder, small as he is. Thor plants his feet and glowers, eyes flicking from Tony's hand around his forearm and the older man's face. "Tell me how I came to be here."

The Avenger-turned-"babysitter" can't think of anything to say. He opens his mouth, shuts it, frowns. Thor doesn't take Tony's silence well.

"Have you taken me from Asgard?" he asks, teary eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No," answers Tony, with a wince. He flounders for some sort of explanation. "Uh, you actually just appeared in my house. Out of nowhere."

"How do I know you speak the truth?"

"You don't," he replies, "but I'm just a hu - a mortal. We all are. There's nothing I could do to take you away from your home. And I want you back as soon as possible."

"But Heimdall -"

"Can't find you, because there's so many people."

"... oh."

Tony's heart breaks a little at Thor's hopeless expression.

"C'mon," he repeats, tugging gently. "Let's go get you cleaned up."


End file.
